


where rot lays its head

by occasionallynotsafe



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Abusive Viren, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, M/M, Non-Consensual, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent/Child Incest, Pre-Canon, Touch-Starved, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-13 19:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16024250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occasionallynotsafe/pseuds/occasionallynotsafe
Summary: The thing is, Viren's never been proud of him. Never respected him. And Soren doesn't think, just moves, and before he knows it, the mistake's made, and he's got himself tangled up in something he doesn't want.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please reread the tags before reading  
> this fic does, **in no way** support real life incest. especially not parent/child incest, which is abusive no matter how you turn it. this is a darkfic, and if you can't handle this, please don't try and read it. take care of yourself instead

Soren can’t remember why he had been going to see his Father.

The memory of it is hazy, distant- overtaken by the rest of the evening, most likely. What he remembers is being tired, frustrated. He had been fourteen, so close to his squire training he could almost have touched it, and he had been anxious. Walking on pins and needles, skin itchy with fear and _what if they hate me_ and he had been restless.

Had been thinking.

So there he is- standing in front of the door to his dad’s quarters, nervously twisting his tunic in his hands. Maybe he had been thinking about talking to his dad, open and honest and to the point. He can’t remember.

He breathes in. Steadies himself. And when he opens the door, it’s with a determined set to his shoulder, ready for whatever it was he had been planning to do.

Which falls apart the moment he lays his eyes on his dad.

The curtains are drawn. The room is dark, barely lit by a few candles scattered about, and the fireplace is a soft, feeble mess of embers. And right in front of it, in a big, cushy chair, is his dad.

He’s sprawled out in the chair, twisted slightly in it, and he’s got his dick in hand, stroking it languidly.

And Soren freezes. Goes still, stomach twisting up in knots, throat locking up. The determination he had been clutching at flees in an instant, and he’s left there, wide-eyed and pale-faced, something like horrified embarrassment in his chest.

He just walked in on his dad masturbating. He just- this can’t be real. This cannot be happening. This just-

Viren exhales. Sharply. Soren jolts, drags himself back to reality, and his dad is looking at him in that way Soren hates. Casual and annoyed, like Soren isn’t his son- like he’s a fly, buzzing around and distracting him from something _important_ , and Soren almost forgets his embarrassment in the rush of hurt and anger that _look_ calls forth.

“Soren,” his dad says, and _yup_ , there it is. That annoyance, _frustration_ , and it’s always aimed at him. He’s always _less_ , somehow. Not as good. Not as important. Not as _loved_.

“This better be important,” his dad is saying, and Soren isn’t really listening- he’s too busy trying to fight down the urge to just- to just _scream_ , to yell and cry, because it’s always, always like this. He’s not Claudia, golden-dark child, so talented at magic, so _clever_. And he loves his sister, he does, he _does_ , but sometimes it hurts. Hurts like cuts and bruises, and he’s fighting back tears, suddenly and sharply, and his dad is frowning.

“Soren-” and he’s not good enough. That’s the _thing_. He’s not talented enough to do magic, he’s not clever, he’s not- he’s _nothing_ , and he had thought training to be a knight would make dad proud, would make him _notice_ , but there’s been nothing. Nothing but a casual, off-hand congratulations, and he’s _tired,_ and his skin hurts, all the time, and he just. He wants him to be _proud_.

To love him like he loves Claudia.

“ _Soren_!”

He flinches; breathes in, sharp and tight, and he’s blinking away tears, and his dad is still frowning.

“If you have nothing to say,” he says, slow and pointed. “Do please get out.”

And Soren doesn’t think. It’s not really him, stepping further into the room, letting the door close behind him. It’s not him, because _he_ would leave, would go outside and train himself till exhaustiation, and then Claudia would find him, and they’d end the day curled up in bed, and she’d read to him, voice soft and kind, and-

And he’s right next to him dad. Viren’s looking up at him, expression shifting to anger, and Soren doesn’t know who’s puppeting his body, because kneeling is the furthest thing from his mind.

But that’s what happens.

He falls to his knees. Right between his dad’s legs, and the room goes tight, wired. A part of Soren, the part of him that’s _him_ , is screaming, is telling him to _get up_ , get out. He doesn’t know what he’s planning to do, but it’s making his gut go tight and scared and uneasy, and he doesn’t _like this_ -

“Soren-” his dad says, and it’s a warning. It rings like a bell in his head, shakes him to his bones, and yet. All he can think. All he can _focus_ on, is that his dad’s angry and he wants him to be happy.

To be proud of him. To love him. To care about him.

So he reaches out. Curls his fingers around his dad’s dick, inches above his own hand, and the air _sharpens_. Snaps with tension, and this is dangerous, this isn’t a good idea at _all_ , but-

But.

He’s heard knights talking about this. Jeering and joking, and they always talk about it like it’s a Big Deal. Like it’s something vital, and important, and- and maybe this will be enough.

Maybe this is what he needs to do, to have his dad love him.

It’s wet. Sticky. It feels weird in his hand, against his palm, slippery and slick, and he forces himself to move- to stroke his hand up, and his dad’s breath hitches.

He does it again. Drops his hand down to just above his dad’s, and then strokes it up in one quick motion, and Viren isn’t stopping him. Isn’t snapping at him.

And that has to mean something, doesn’t it? So he does it again, again- there’s white beading at the tip of the dick, and he hesitates for a second, before ending a stroke by gently gliding his thumb over the slit, and his dad _groans_.

Soren’s shoulder hitches up- his throat burns, tastes like acid. His dad jerks his hips up, sliding his cock along Soren’s palm. The motion makes the bottom of his gut squirm.

“Don’t stop,” his dad says, and his voice is choked. Tight. And a part of Soren unwinds, because this is good, then? This is something _right_ , and he strokes the cock again, repeats the same maneuver as before, and the white smears along his palm, sticky and gross.

He doesn’t know how many times he does it. How many strokes it take, before his dad reaches out, gently curls his fingers in Soren’s hair. Presses him a bit closer, and his arm bend awkwardly, his knees burn.

“Open your mouth,” his dad says, low and strained, and Soren blinks up at him, at a loss.

“I-” the words catch in his throat, tumble together, sticks like thorns. His dad shushes him, scratches his fingers along the back of Soren’s head, and-

And it feels good. His skin _sings_ with pleasure, and he nearly closes his eyes, and it’s- it’s good, it’s great, he wants this, he wants his dad to, to touch him and hug him and hold him close, and okay. Okay.

He opens his mouth.

And Viren guides him gently forward, and Soren doesn’t know why, but he really hadn’t expected the dick to _go in his mouth_.

A part of him _recoils_. It tastes gross, salty. Sharp. And he doesn’t like it, wants it _out_ immediately, but his dad _sighs_ , and it’s not the annoyed kind, the kind that makes Soren want to hide somewhere. It’s- breathy, kind of, like the feeling after a good workout, and that must mean he’s doing good, right?

Right.

Viren gently pushes him forward- the dick slides over his tongue, fills his mouth, and suddenly the tip of it presses at the back of his throat, and Soren jolts, swallows impulsively.

His dad’s hip jerk, and the tip _hits_ the back of his throat, and Soren chokes, tries to lean away, but there’s a hand in his hair, fingers curling in, and suddenly, he can’t _breathe_.

His dad groans, and Soren’s eyes snaps up to him, tries to ask him to ease up with just his eyes, but his dad is arched back in the chair, eyes half-lidded, and even though their eyes meet, there’s no connection.

His dad looks smug, somehow.

The dick withdraws from his throat, slides back, and Soren gasps, manages to breathe around the dick in his mouth, and he blinks, hard and fast, and he’s about to- to say something, do something, when the dick slams right back in.

He chokes again.

It’s in his throat, pressing up against the back of his mouth, and Soren can’t do a thing- his throat works, flexes, and his dad is making sounds above his head, fingers digging into his skin, and it’s scary.

It’s _scary_.

The dick slides back again. This time there’s no real time to breathe- Soren manages a gasp, a quick inhale, and then the dick is back, and it blurs together, fades into itself.

And before Soren knows it, his dad arches up, groans long and drawn-out, and his mouth is full of white.

The fingers in the back of his hair fade away; the hand is just there, loosely, and Soren reels back- turns around and vomits on the floor, white mixed with yellow sick, and he coughs, shakes.

There’s a burn in his head. His eyes sting, his chest heave. He coughs and coughs and _coughs_ , until all he’s doing is shuddering over a pile of vomit, gasping for air.

He hiccups.

Tears burn at the back of his eyes, and he doesn’t know _why_ \- this was his idea, and it wasn’t even that bad, really. Just kind of scary, but he didn’t pass out, so it’s fine, it’s _fine_ -

He bites down on a sob; leans back on his knees, and shudders in a breath, and the vomit stinks. The room stinks. Heavy. Gross.

Soren breathes in; ignores the hitch, and he turns to his dad, not sure what it is he’s expecting, not sure why- but he turns, and he looks up, and freezes.

Viren’s eyes are sharp. Dangerous.

And Soren doesn’t know what brought this on. Doesn’t even really know how to _read_ that expression, only knows it’s not good.

He’s fucked up. He’s done something wrong, something _stupid_ again, and he’s let his dad down again. Has disappointed him.

And Soren doesn’t think. He scrambles to his feet, bows his head. Manages a stuttery, croaky “ _sorry_ ,” before turning right around and basically _running_ out the door. And his dad doesn’t try to stop him. There’s no call of his name, no magic, no nothing. And _of course_ he fucked this up. Of course he let his dad down, somehow, even though it was going so well, was making Viren _happy_.

Soren doesn’t look back. He runs; doesn’t stop running till he’s back in his and Claudia’s shared quarters, still empty for the day, and Soren slams the door behind him, presses his back to it, and gasps for air.

His stomach churns. His lungs burn.

There’s something dark in his chest, wrapped around his ribs, and it’s squeezing, is digging its claws in, and Soren’s legs gives out under him, sends him to the floor.

He can’t breathe.

He can still taste it, in his mouth. Can still feel it pressed to the back of his throat, and he can’t help but gag. And just like that he’s dry-heaving, his whole body jerking with it, and the tears are hot on his face.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that. Half-curled up on the floor, dry-heaving and gagging. Biting down on sobs, because knights don’t cry, not over something stupid like _this_ , and it all blurs together, smears out like wet blood. All he knows is that eventually he manages to stop, manages to clamber to his feet and make his way to his bed.

And he should stay awake. Should greet Claudia, should do their usual ritual of talking about their day, whispering into the night, but all he wants to do is fall asleep, and not think about this at all.

Because there’s no way his dad is just going to let this go.

There’s no way he won’t get called to his dad’s quarters, won’t get scolded and torn down, and right now, the mere _thought_ of it is enough to make his eyes tear up, make his throat go tight, and he just wants to _sleep_.

So he wraps himself in his blanket, curls up as tight as he can, and hopes, _prays_ , that his dad won’t be too mad at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to clarify, in case: i am in NO WAY trying to put the blame on Soren here. his decision was made out of desperation and naïvety, and while it was dumb, he's also a kid, and Viren should have stopped him _immediately_  
>  anyway, i don't know when i'll write the next chapter. i have a rough plan for this fic, but nothing super concrete, so we'll see


	2. Chapter 2

Soren wakes, groggy.

His head hurts. Feels heavy and thick, and his mouth tastes _horrid_ \- he smacks his lips, runs his tongue over his teeth, and the taste is _disgusting_. He grimaces, mouth working, and what even did he _eat_ yesterday?

Something bad, obviously- his mouth tastes worse than usual, all salty and sharp and rotten, and he groans, flops over. Doesn’t want to get up, even though the taste makes him _long_ for something to wash it out with.

“Sor _~en_ ,” and there goes whatever decision he had, because the bed dips and a weight flops over him, and Soren valiantly tries to murder the smile twitching at his lips. “I know you’re _awake_.”

“I’m not,” he mumbles, or _tries_ to- because his voice comes out croaky and downright _squeaky_ , and for a second there’s just dumbfounded _silence_.

And then Claudia _laughs_.

Soren scrambles upright, sputters- except his voice is apparently _out_ , and all he manages to do is make creaky, weird sounds, and Claudia is _dying_ , laughing so hard she tips backwards and falls off the bed.

“Oh my _gosh_ ,” she manages to wheeze out. “Soren, what _happened_?”

He glares- rubs at his throat in a vain attempt of fixing this, and yeah, what _did_ happen? Because there’s no reason for him to sound like _this_ -

And suddenly he remembers. The tastes and the _feel_ , and Claudia’s laughter snaps out, everything is silent, and there’s a heavy weight in Soren’s gut, something sharp like fear and embarrassment and _shame_.

“-Soren?”

A hand touches his shoulders- Soren jolts in place, blinks himself out of the white daze that had swallowed him whole for a second, and there’s no trace of laughter on Claudia’s face. Just a soft twist of worry and concern.

“Are you okay?”

He blinks. Breathes. Of _course_ he’s okay. He’s worried, anxious, doesn’t want dad to take him aside and scold him, but he’s _okay_.

He nods. Smiles, and it feels wobbly on his face, and Claudia’s eyebrows knit together, worry even more clear than before.

“Are you sick? You were asleep when I came back.”

He shakes his head. Rubs a bit more at his throat, and then manages to croak out a creaky: “I’m fine.”

She chews at her lip- doesn’t really look like she _believes_ him, but she drops it, withdrawing her hand from his shoulder.

“If you’re sure,” she says. “But I’m here.”

Soren rolls his eyes. Scoffs, and gently pushes at her shoulder, and she huffs, smile curling at her lips.

“Well, I am! Just making sure you haven’t forgotten.”

Of course he hasn’t. Claudia’s _always_ there for him, always at his side. She’s his sister, and even though she’s younger than him, sometimes she feels more like his twin, like the other half of him.

“Don’t you gotta do magic?” he croaks out, and she sticks her tongue out in answer, turning away in a swirl.

“Yep!” she says, pops the p. “And you gotta go train.”

And _shit_ , yes he does- Soren yanks his blanket away, scrambles out of bed, and Claudia laughs at him as he nearly trips over his own feet, hurriedly making his way to the water bowl.

“ _Please_ -” he says. “tell me you didn’t let me sleep in.”

He washes his face in quick, frantic motions, runs wet fingers through his hair, and he’ll have to rinse his mouth out later.

“Of course not,” Claudia tuts, and she’s making his bed, restlessly tugging the edges beneath the mattress, and _aw_. She’s waiting for him.

“Thanks,” he says, tugs at his tunic. Sniffs, considering. “You think I can get away with not changing?”

Claudia shrugs. Pats at his bed, and, seemingly happy with it, leans back to get her bag. “Probably. You’re all going to be sweaty anyway.”

He frowns. “True.” Smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt, tousles his hair. Turns in a circle, checking if there’s anything he’s messing. “Am I-?”

“Boots,” she says, swings her bag over her shoulder.

“Ah. Thanks.”

Picking them up from the end of his bed, he makes one last, disoriented check around him. There’s a weird itch at the back of his neck, like there’s something he _needs_ to hide, and he’s not sure why. Maybe it’s the embarrassment, still squirming in his gut. The knowledge that, any minute now, he’ll be summoned to his dad’s quarter.

“I guess that’s all,” he says, and he doesn’t like the way he sounds so _lost_.

“Yeah,” Claudia says, and she’s looking at him like she hears it too.

“I’ll walk you halfway,” he says, in lieu of anything else, and puts on his boots. “As always.”

“As always,” she echoes, and the concern is still there, right on her face.

-

Training is the same as always.

Soren’s good at it. He’s quick and talented, and every time the instructor praises him, it feels like the sun is shining only on him.

Better yet, all throughout the day, there’s no sign of his dad. No servant coming to fetch him, no shadow of the High Mage himself, and maybe his dad doesn’t wanna talk about it either.

Maybe it was embarrassing for him too, and _maybe_ Soren is going to be let off. Maybe it’ll be okay, after all.

And a part of Soren _knows_ it’s unlikely, but as time passes, as the sun falls lower in the sky, it becomes harder and harder not to cling to this hope. Because maybe this is just one of those things you forget about, you never talk about, and Soren can only hope.

It’s as the day winds up, as the sparring comes to an end, that his hopes are crushed.

“Sir Soren?” someone calls, and Soren twists in place, sweaty and tired, and there’s a servant coming closer, nervously fidgeting.

There’s a stone, in Soren’s stomach. Heavy.

“Yes?” he answers, swallows a gasp for air. His shoulders are rising, falling, in quick bursts. His hands ache.

“The High Mage-” the servant’s voice is timid. “-Your Father-”

“He’s summoning me, correct?” Soren interrupts, and he wipes the sweat from his brow.

The servant jumps. Nods. “I apologize-”

“No, it’s fine,” he smiles, tight and forced. “Thank you. You’re dismissed.”

The servant doesn’t leave- instead they squirm, tugs at their tunic. “Uh, sir-”

“I’ll leave in a second,” Soren assures them, hefting up his sword. “Just gotta put this aside, yeah?”

The servant smiles- still nervous and timid, but thankful for his words. “Of course, sir. I’ll let High Mage Viren know you’ll be there shortly,” and they bow, quick and practiced, and then turns away to do just that.

And Soren wishes he could stop them. Could pull them aside and tell them _no, don’t_ , but that’s childish. He’ll have to face this, have to bear it, and his shoulders drop, throat going tight.

He wishes he could stay right here. Wishes he could train till his hands bledt. Wishes.

**-**

The door is foreboding. Huge.

Soren tugs at his shirt. Bites at his lips. He’s still stinky with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, but he had left as soon as he had put the sword away, as promised.

His body hums with nervous energy. Today’s training’s left him sore, as it always does, and he mostly wants to go back to his and Claudia’s quarters, take a long, relaxing bath. But he knew better.

Had _known_ this was what would happen, and it’s on him, for childishly believing his dad would just _drop_ it.

So he has to be a man about this.

Soren squares his shoulders. Breathes in deep. And then, like he’s facing his doom, he knocks on the door.

“Come in.”

He steps forward- the door creaks as it opens, ominous and heavy, and Soren dips his head down, swallows.

“Father?”

The fireplace is crackling. The curtains are drawn. His dad stands tall, right before the chair, and for some reason, a shiver runs up Soren’s spine, leaves something tense and unpleasant in its wake.

“Soren,” Viren greets, and Soren can see half of his face, cast in orange-red shadows. He’s impossible to read. “I wish to talk to you about yesterday’s events.”

Soren swallows, tight. His heart is hammering.

“Of course,” he breathes, and hesitates. “Shall I close the door?”

His dad turns to him- he looks powerful, important. Shoulders straight, head high. Spine steel. He inclines his head, a silent yes.

The door falls heavy behind Soren. Clicks close, and the air is tense. Sharp. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Come here,” his dad says, and Soren walks closer.

It feels like he’s walking to his execution.

“Do you have _anything_ to say for yourself?” Viren says, when Soren is close enough to touch. And Soren flinches- his shoulders hitches up, and his heart leaps in his throat, and suddenly it’s like he’s on fire, being burned alive, and _yeah, Soren_. What do you have to say for yourself?

“I-” his tongue feels like steel. “I just-”

His dad’s eyes are heavy and sharp and _judgemental_ , and Soren’s heart is slamming against his ribs, beating itself to a pulp, and-

“I wanted to make you happy.”

And that’s the crux of it all.

That’s the line at the bottom of the paper.

Silence settles over them. Wraps them in its embrace.

Soren looks down at his boots; bites at his tongue, because there is really nothing else to say.

And Viren looks down at him, mouth a thin line, and Soren doesn’t _know_ what’s going to happen.

He knows he’s going to be punished- it’s so clear, so _obvious_ , and it’s what he deserves. He wonders what his dad will do. Will he be grounded? Scolded black and blue? Will his dad raise his hand, or have him partake in his and Claudia’s magic?

Soren doesn’t _know_.

And then, completely out of the blue, his dad _sighs_.

“Oh Soren,” he says, and there’s no disappointment, no _anger_ , in his tone. “You did make me very happy.”

Soren snaps his head up. Stares, wide-eyed, completely and utterly _thrown_.

“I- I did?” slips out, and it shivers with surprise.

His dad smiles. He turns away, walks to his chair- sits down, and beckons him closer, and Soren follows, skin quivering.

“You did. And I’m sorry, for how I acted- I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Soren stops; halts in his tracks. Blinks. “I- scare me?”

And he thinks, briefly, of the taste of the cock in his mouth, and the way it had choked him, and he shivers. “I- It’s okay, dad.”

And it is. Of _course_ it’s okay, because he had made his dad _happy_. And suddenly the sun is on him, shining down on him, and Soren feels a smile curving on his face, sudden and warm and _happy_.

“I’m glad,” he says, soft. “that I could cheer you up.”

Viren sighs. But it’s not annoyed, not the same sigh he usually makes. It’s a touched sign, like Soren is _the best_ , and it’s like there’s a thousand flowers blooming in his chest, bright and content and Soren smiles, wide and open.

“I truly am blessed with the kindest of sons,” his dad says, and Soren nearly _crumples_ \- his hands shake, and his cheeks are starting to hurt, but it doesn’t matter, because the way his dad says it, it’s like he _means it_.

“So I wanted to reward you,” his dad continues, and pats his lap; and Soren remembers he’s supposed to be there, beside his dad, and he nearly runs over, not quite able to stop the way he moves light-footed and _happy_.

Soren stops before his dad, folds his hands behind his back; but his dad chuckles, reaches out and tugs at his tunic, pulls him closer.

“Sit down,” he says, and pats his lip again, and Soren blinks.

“I- are you sure?” he asks, because it’s been _years_ since he sat in his dad’s lap. Years since his dad heldt him close, and his skin _shivers_ , something tight and hopeful in his throat.

Viren doesn’t answer. Just pats his lap again, and Soren steps closer. Turns around. Sits down, and it’s kind of weird, sitting in his dad’s lap when he’s _fourteen_ , but-

But Viren’s arm wrap around him, shifts him a bit, and there’s a warm hand on his chest, and- and it’s nice.

Soren slumps, wriggles- he feels warm, content, and he doesn’t get this, but it kind of doesn’t matter.

“Now,” and his dad’s voice is _right there_ , right in his ear, and Soren nearly jumps. “I wanted to ask you: why did you decide to touch me, yesterday?”

And okay then. Apparently he’s not getting completely scot-free, and he squirms a bit, wishes he could hide, because it’s so _embarrassing_.

“I- I’ve heard some of the knights talking about it,” he mumbles. “About, uh. Touching yourself…? And you were, were doing it, and-” he trails off, face red and heated, and _ugh_. He wishes he wasn’t sitting like this, so close it feels like Viren can see _everything_ of him. Can judge him.

Viren chuckles, though. Pats his chest, and there’s no annoyance in the rumble of his voice.

“So you’ve never touched yourself?”

Soren shrugs. “No? I, uh. Should I have?”

And his ears burn, and suddenly he realises _yes_. Yes he should have, of course he should have. It’s probably normal for boys to do that, _Claudia’s_ probably done that, and this is just another thing, another _way_ for Soren to be less, to be faulty, to be-

“It’s fine,” his dad cuts in, voice patient. “Some do. Some don’t.”

Oh.

“Oh,” he repeats, and he squirms, because suddenly he feels- dumb. Stupid. He had jumped to conclusions, had even thought badly of _Claudia_ , and his face is warm and red and _stupid_.

“If you want,” Viren says, in a gentle tone. “I’d love to show you.”

Soren stills. Thinks of the way the dick had felt, in his hand, slick and gross, and he tastes bile, suddenly and abruptly, and-

And his dad had said _love_.

Love to show you. Not _I wouldn’t mind_ , or _I’d like_ \- _love_ , like this was something he’d enjoy doing, in the same way he loved to teach Claudia magic, fire-burst and complicated words Soren’s never been able to follow, and-

“Yeah,” he says, voice choked. “I- I’d like that?”

Viren chuckles. He shifts back, pushes Soren up a bit with a knee, and suddenly there’s a hand on his trouser- tugging it down, and Soren’s face _flushes_ , embarrassment churning in his gut.

But he doesn’t say anything. He bites his tongue as his dad tosses his trousers asides, and Soren looks down, stares at his limp dick hanging between his legs.

His dad presses a hand up against his thigh. So close a knuckle nearly touches his dick, and a finger glides over his skin, shivers over hair, and Soren’s heart jumps in his chest.

It’s tickly. Weird.

Viren’s other hand slips beneath his tunic, curls over the breadth of his stomach. His tunic bunches up against the hand there, exposes his dick even more, and the fingers on his thigh rub gentle, loose circles into his muscles.

“Dad-?” he says, and his voice is a soft thing, and the air is heavy.

“Shh,” his dad murmurs, presses a kiss to the back of his hair, and there’s goosebumps on Soren’s skin.

And then, slowly and gently, Viren takes his dick in hand.

His dad’s palm isn’t rough. It’s not silken either. It’s just somewhere in between, and it feels weird on him, wrapped around him, and Soren stares, feels odd.

His dad’s hand is big.

“Don’t keep quiet,” Viren says, quiet and tender in his ear, and Soren’s just about to ask what that means, when Viren strokes him.

And- and it’s _weird_ . It bunches in his chest, fluttery and breathy, and Soren’s mouth makes a soft, round _o_.

Again. Stroke after stroke, and Soren makes a soft, loose gasp, and his stomach is twisted up, is knotted together, and- and-

He leans his head back; arches his back, and a soft groan leaves his lips, and his eyelids are slipping down, and it feels-

His dad’s hips roll against him, and a finger slides over the slit of his dick, and Soren’s throat locks up, goes tight and gooey, and one more stroke and his world bottoms out.

Someone groans into his hair. The hand on him is wet. Soren’s eyes roll in their socket, and his heart jostles in his chest.

It feels-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh? i'm alive?
> 
> anyway, just wanna say THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who commented and left kudos and bookmarked. ya'll made my day, and i'm sorry i didn't like, answer? i'm just bad at that sdgkjdg
> 
> that aside, just wanna let ya'll know that updates are going to stay sporadic. i'm not planning on abandoning this, at all, but i do have other stuff cooking, and this is like, super low on the list. but, i do have a rough outline, and i wanna put out a chapter once a month, at least. so we'll see how that goes

**Author's Note:**

> just to clarify, in case: i am in NO WAY trying to put the blame on Soren here. his decision was made out of desperation and naïvety, and while it was dumb, he's also a kid, and Viren should have stopped him _immediately_  
>  anyway, i don't know when i'll write the next chapter. i have a rough plan for this fic, but nothing super concrete, so we'll see


End file.
